Dedicated activists and recorders of countless acts of police violence have kept the Black Lives Matter movement in the limelight. This movement is historical, necessary and long-overdue. And like all movements, it has a vehement backlash epitomized by the phrase "All Lives Matter."
BLM movement is causing the (white) public to be confronted by the adversity and suffering that the black community suffers on a daily basis. And by extension, the discourse leads to white privilege. The knee-jerk responses to discussing white privilege, even by some self-professed liberals and allies to the black community, are as follows:
1) "White privilege does not exist."
There is no use in arguing with this statement. If someone doesn't want to believe it, no amount of statistics or differing accounts of how whites versus blacks are treated by the police will ever convince them. As my sister once so wisely said, "At what point, when arguing with a crazy person, do you, yourself, become the crazy person?"
2) "I'm so tired of hearing about privilege."
This response is much more complicated. There isn't a denial that it exists. It's a matter of not addressing the seriousness of an atrocious part of American culture. It is a choice to ignore something awful that's occurring because it doesn't directly affect you. And in a way, that's worse than sheer ignorance.
People feel uncomfortable when they know they have it better than other people. I know it makes me uncomfortable to think about it. My peers, exactly in the same life stages as myself, share entirely different experiences because of skin color. I have friends, coworkers, dates and classmates that have to be aware, of all times, of dangers that never even cross my mind.
Hidely-ho, neighborino!
These are just a handful of my privileges:
I can approach an officer and expect help, not hostility.
I can wear my hair naturally and not be told it's "unprofessional."
I can walk down the street without people crossing to the other side.
I can enter a store and not be followed around while I'm shopping.
I never get told I'm "well-spoken" as if it's some sort of surprise, as if I'm an anomaly.
If I go missing, my face will be plastered everywhere and will not be forgotten.
My flesh fits an oppressive, societal beauty standard.
Despite this beauty standard, I am still, somehow, objectified less than women with darker skin.
The list goes on and on.
I confess: I'm uncomfortable writing this. I feel sad, I feel guilty, I feel fortunate. Hell, I feel guilty that I feel fortunate. But you know what? I should feel uncomfortable.
There is nothing right about how African-Americans are being treated by government, law enforcement, the Media, Hollywood and the general public. Shying away from conversations about privilege only feed the monster. Step one is acknowledging it. Let people speak their minds and share their experiences. And most importantly, listen to them.
If the worst way you are harmed by our systematically racist society is that you end up feeling uncomfortable, then congratulations! You're privileged. Now what are you going to do with it?